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Waves by Noragotcharisma

A four-letter word could never have been so underestimated. Wave. In fact, right now my voice is nothing but a mere wave. My aura, my energy.

Those powerful flushes of water that could almost tip you off your feet when you’re buried ankle high in warm Banana boat coconut-scented sand in Julai’a.

That voice inside your head reading this while you’re silent is a wave too. But I bet the average Joes and Janes aren’t really interested in physics, or nature, or my energy.

The waves that actually “matter” to your basic Neanderthal are perhaps the waves and curls of the hair, or the waves of a female physique—you know like Kim’s.

Alas, don’t be disappointed, because that doesn’t matter either. You wanna know what a real wave looks like? A real wave is an infinite ripple effect of cause and effect. Of emotion and how the universe so readily regains balance.

You smile at that chick who sat behind you in Intro to Psych, took your number to WhatsApp you only when she needed to be signed in the attendance sheet. But why are you smiling? You’re happy and she’s just hiding behind her Versace shades. Congratulations, she just took your happy waves.

She’ll go on her day feeling a bit better that someone was nice enough to smile at her, knowing she looked perfect with wavy hair. So maybe she’ll go a bit easier on her nanny today. And maybe her “beloved” Mary will then rest that night because she managed to dodge the wrath of the Vogue-esque princess who knows nothing about life.

And then maybe Rameesh will wake to see his love so happy and well-rested, seeing her glowing makes him glow too. As she gives him breakfast, he can’t help but be in awe at how happy his sweetheart looks. Rameesh’ll then go on to drive in a state of pure positivity, being nice and letting people pass in front of him, not giving a damn about anything.

And then maybe Rameesh will be right next to you at a traffic light, you waiting for it to turn green so you can get out of the scorching heat and rush home to devour a mountain of flavored rice, with a chicken by its side.

And then maybe in the midst of your torture and boredom, among all these cars, you’ll catch a glimpse of Rameesh—and his everglowing smile makes you happy for him, because why shouldn’t a chauffer be happy?

And then maybe you’ll have hope, although you’re sweaty, tired, and hungry, you’ll make it home sooner or later, and all things will be fine.